Page 86 of Howl You Doin?
I blink at that. “Poisoning you? Hmm, maybe it’s the hazelnut.” I mentally check all the ingredients, wondering what it could possibly be to make it last longer.
“Yeah. It takes roughly twenty minutes after I’ve eaten a regular cupcake. If I run it off in the woods, its takes even less time—something about our monster form breaks down the glucose faster—but yours pack a bigger punch.”
Eyes skating over his expensive, tailored suit, I notice he’s dressed early today in a dark-blue three piece, and it doesn’t look like I will be getting that breakfast picnic after all.
My stomach takes this opportunity to growl and a painful lump forms in my throat. “I wish you would have told me that last night.”
“I’m so sorry, Whitley. I didn’t think to mention foods last night.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “This is my fault. I’ve never turnedanyonebefore, and I apologize—I should have thought to tell you.”
I wave it off, not wanting him to feel worse. “It’s fine. I don’t have to eat the cupcakes now. I can always eat them when everyone goes to bed, right? Just tell me you have food somewhere I can eat.”
He winces and his face falls. “I may have some protein drinks in the fridge. I’ve stupidly been eating more lately because of this potion I’ve been taking to quell my reaction to you. But there’s really not that much of a diet change—it’s just better to eat all-natural ingredients and be aware of super sugary foods. Also limit the caffeine.”
My face falls. “You’ve been taking a potion?”
He shakes his head. “I know. Trust me, never again. If I had known I had a mate, I would never have taken any. They’re dangerous.”
A flash of worry streaks across his expression and he pulls me to him, touching my face gently. “Promise me you will never take one.”
The fear in his tone and the sincerity in his gaze has me nodding. Potions? It makes me think of Kronk holding Kuzco’s poison and I wonder if there really could be an Izma somewhere. “I promise no potions, but we definitely need to talk about diet.”
His back goes ramrod straight, and his face loses all trace of color.
I move to comfort him and rub his arm. “It’s just a diet change, Connor. It will be alright, I’m sure I can get used to it.”
“Do not move. I will be right back.”
“What? Where are you going?” I call after him, but he moves so fast, practically leaping toward the dining-room door. What the hell?
My stomach cramps lightly, and I rub at my tummy absentmindedly just as the sounds of shouting raise from somewhere in the castle. I focus intently and realize it’s a woman.
“You don’t get to tell me what I can and cannot do, Connor O’Doyle,” I hear someone shout.
My blood begins to boil. Who is yelling at him? I also don’t like how high-handed she sounds.
I’m the only one who gets to yell at him.My fingers tear at the buttons of my chef’s whites; the urge to march to wherever they’re arguing is overwhelming in the extreme. Wait, no. What am I doing? He’s a big boy, he can handle himself.
My hair stands on end, and my fingers twitch with the need to claw out. I don’t know why I suddenly feel so protective of him, but I can’t seem to control it.
“Shit.” The kinky strands of my hair bush out around my head as something in me reacts.
I turn on my heel and push my way through the dining-room doors, uncaring that there will be guests in here shortly as the shouting match continues.
My new work shoes, that Connor just happened to have a second pair of, clip along the black-and-white marble floor, and I fight to keep the snarl off my expression at the sight of him arguing with a stunningly beautiful dark-haired woman at the door.
What the heck would the guests think if they saw?
For the first time since I arrived at the castle, I ignore the glittering chandelier near the grand staircase that always makes my heart a little happy when I see it and glare at mymate.
“Connor, if I could have a moment?” I snap, snagging his attention from the woman in the foyer.
“You see?” she says, gesturing my way with a hardened expression on her face. “Sheis going to have questions. You can’t just dictate how this is going to go, like everything else in your life. I swear, between you and Vlad, I’m not sure who is the more pigheaded.”
I fume and plant my hands on my hips as another cramp echoes in my side, taking in the newcomer.
She’s dressed in high fashion, sporting cream-colored wide leg pants, a white starched shirt tucked into them, and black kitten heels to complete her look. She could be a model off the runway, and it wouldn’t surprise me.
“What are you doing here?” Connor asks her pointedly.
